Chapter 56 of 89
I. · Section 8
Thomas Davis, selections from his prose and poetry · Thomas Davis
I.
In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave, And wildly along it the winter winds rave; Small shelter, I ween, are the ruined walls there, When the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kildare.
II.
Once I lay on that sod--it lies over Wolfe Tone-- And thought how he perished in prison alone, His friends unavenged, and his country unfreed-- "Oh, bitter," I said, "is the patriot's meed;
III.
"For in him the heart of a woman combined With a heroic life and a governing mind-- A martyr for Ireland--his grave has no stone-- His name seldom named, and his virtues unknown."
IV.
I was woke from my dream by the voices and tread Of a band, who came into the home of the dead; They carried no corpse, and they carried no stone, And they stopped when they came to the grave of Wolfe Tone.